Page 99 of Letters From A Stalker

“What did you tell her?”

“That the rougher stuff doesn’t feel anything like what happened to me.”

I stay quiet, mainly because I don’t trust my fucking voice.

Julia settles farther into the chair, apparently deciding that if she has already opened the door she may as well walk through it.

“What happened that night was... passive, I guess. I know rape itself obviously wasn’t passive, but I was. I couldn’t move properly. Everything was quiet. He kept telling me to relax, and there was this horrible gentleness to the way he spoke while completely ignoring what I was saying.” Her face changes slightly.

Not dissociation, just a memory. I keep an eye on her breathing anyway.

“Sometimes very gentle sex reminds me of that more than rough sex ever has,” she says. “I’ve actually cried before when someone was being really soft with me. Not because they did anything wrong. My body just decided it hated the situation before my brain understood why.”

“That makes sense in the context of what you experienced.”

She looks at me. “It does?”

“Yes.” I consider how much explanation is useful before continuing. “Trauma memories aren’t organized according to what seems logical from the outside. Your nervous system may associate stillness, a certain tone of voice or a particular kind of physical pacing with danger because those were elements present during the assault. Something objectively more intense can feel entirely different if you choose it and remain engaged in what’s happening.”

Julia’s shoulders loosen slightly. “That’s what I thought.”

“And the control you mentioned?”

She looks down briefly. “That’s the other thing. If I let someone take control during sex, I’m still the person who gave it to them.”

Every muscle in my body becomes aware of that sentence. Ghost practically grins.

She’s fucking perfect.

I tighten my fingers around the pen. “And can you take it back?”

Her eyes lift.

“Always.” There is no hesitation.

Good.

The word moves through me with almost violent relief.

“How do you know?”

“Because if I say stop, they stop.”

Something changes inside me. Not desire. Not entirely. Something harder, more fundamental.

“And if you say no?”

“They stop then too.” Her answer is immediate.

hold her gaze. “That distinction sounds important to you.”

“It is.” She draws one leg beneath the other now, settling more comfortably despite the subject. “I think that’s why the control works for me. It only feels good because it isn’t actually being taken away. I know I can end it whenever I want.”

Exactly. The doctor in me recognizes agency, consent and reclamation. So does Ghost, only he hears something else.

She wants to give someone control and know he won’t abuse it.

My pulse beats harder.